


Grayscale

by SlytherinProfessor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinProfessor/pseuds/SlytherinProfessor
Summary: A story about how a single choice of a grandfather long dead changed the life of Hermione Jean Granger, and thus the whole wizarding world around her. Early Hermione/Fleur, later Hermione/Bellatrix. No angsty breakups!
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 55
Kudos: 149
Collections: Bellamione





	1. Chapter 1

Grayscale

The butterfly effect dictates that even the smallest choices can have far reaching consequences, beyond even the wildest imaginings. This is a story of how in one universe, in the endless multiverse of possibilities, the smallest action had profound consequences for the wizarding world, and in particular, one Hermione Jean Granger.

* * *

Greggory Nolan, husband of Jean, father of Emma was a simple man. Educated certainly, but as a manager in a bank, his life consisted of forming relationships and managing the money of wealthier, more complicated men than he. He knew what he liked, he knew what he disliked, and he was a fan of escaping off to the local pub after a work week filled with stress. Jean didn't mind. Little Emma, had just turned four, wasn't so much of a handful for his wife to manage alone, and it was a joy to spend time with other workers, griping over pints of beer.

John was at it again of course. Week after week he complained about his Susan, though in Greg's opinion, she was the one who ought to be down the pub! The man was in and out of work, not the most reliable, and the poor woman seemed to have to make do with what little she could rely on as a seamstress to provide for them both.

It made him long for his own wife, stubborn though she might be at times. In a time not too long since the vote, she was stubborn and independent as he'd ever found. He liked that in her, he liked that she had spirit. If he'd wanted a partner who he couldn't have a conversation with, he'd have settled on Patricia, the comely girl down the road his father had wanted for him.

He wasn't sure whether he could bear listening too much longer. He didn't know whether to try and console the man, to redirect him, to try and get him to lay off his drink for a little while. He seemed increasingly intoxicated, and Greg, keeping pace via the traditional English round system, was gradually getting drunk alongside him. He could instead head home, spend time with his daughter before she went to bed, listen to the wireless with Jean, maybe have a dance around the living room, warm themselves in front of the fire. Tell her about the insufferable Mr Atkins, the butcher who thought he was important enough to barge his way into his office without an appointment. Tell her how he loved her, how he loved their family. Talk about how afraid he was about the world, about what it might become. There were signs that it was becoming a darker place, Mr Hitler and the Nazis gaining power on the continent. Some of his richer customers echoing the same ideals.

The Mail was even at it, supporting the Blackshirts, the growing Nazi movement in his own beloved country. Seeing it all made him want to hold his girls close, block it out in their warmth and joy.

In a multiverse of possibilities, the fate of an entire universe can rest on a single, insignificant seeming choice. Knife edged indecision, potentially falling either way, can branch off into vastly different worlds and experiences, far reaching beyond the initial individuals involved. This was such a decision

In one universe, Greg decided to stay at the pub. He stumbled home in the quiet hours of the night, to his little daughter asleep and Jean not too far away from it. He held her close, kissed her on the forehead, and went to sleep, waking up with a pounding headache and a resolve to never get taken in by John again, though of course he'd forget this come next Friday night.

In another, Greg headed home after making his polite goodbyes, making sure the barman, Jack, knew to cut John off and give him some water. Another man, William, kindly offered to shepherd him home when they'd had enough, which was good enough for Greg.

He got home in time to play with Emma, her pushing a train set around the floor, him pretending to be the over dramatic announcer, to her raucous peels of laughter. It made him feel warmth, a joy he hadn't felt in a long time, it reminded him how special his family was and how glad he was that they'd created it together, him and Jean.

He'd tucked Emma into bed with her favourite bear, Alice, and helped read her favourite story, Alice in wonderland (for whom her treasured companion was named), alternating voices of the hatter and the others with his wife.

He held Jean close afterwards, loving what they'd created together. It was clear she felt the same if her warm smile was any indication. He was glad he'd come home. She pulled him to the warmth of their room, whispering quietly, asking if they might consider having another, growing their family, making it complete. It was a discussion they'd had many times. It was always on the cards, but they'd wanted to make sure little Emma had the attention she needed from them. But now at 4 she was more independent than a mere baby, and would benefit from the companionship.

He nodded, so full of love and joy. Nine months from that night or thereabouts they welcomed another daughter, Jennifer, to the world.

In the universe with which we are all familiar, Jennifer was never born. Emma grew up an only child, a solitary one. With a father working increasingly at the bank and later being drafted into the war, she became an insular child, not one for socialising. Her mother worked for the WAF and was often busy working for the community.

She didn't see the importance of friendships, preferring to find comfort in her beloved Lewis Carol, and so her daughter Hermione grew up in much the same way. Awkward, without many social skills, without strong ties to her parents. Loving them, but not needing them in the same way she might. Independent like her mother and grandmother. Because her relationship with her parents was distant, much as Emma's had been, when she was sent her Hogwarts letter her parents were excited for her. Strange and frightening that it might be, Emma and Dan were only too happy to let her explore the world of wonders she had access to, and were blissfully unaware of many of the dark and dangerous happenings as her school years went by.

This is the other universe.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Hermione Granger, daughter to Emma and Daniel, was a bright, lively child, full of imagination and enthusiasm for learning. She'd inherited a stubborn streak from her mother and grandmother and was confident and happy with her peers. Her mother, who might have been lonely as a child save for her sister Jennifer, had always ensured that her only child didn't want for attention. Their bond had never been closer, parents and daughter took regular outings and all kinds of adventures. Although both were busy as dentists, they always felt it was important to prioritise their daughter. Trips to the museum, to fairgrounds and even family holidays to Europe to see wonders like the Parthenon and the Louvre were enjoyed immensely by all, and left Hermione with a profound appreciation for history and languages. She'd particularly taken to French in school and had relished the opportunity to practice with various people in Paris, much to their joy. Seeing such a tiny child with an English accent navigate her way deftly around their mother tongue with nary an error was an impressive feat, and a far cry from drunken tourists butchering 'bonjour' as 'bon-joo-er'.

She'd often played with her cousins as a child. She hadn't been well liked at first. But with careful attention, help from her mother and aunt, and some barbed comments from Rachel and Ben when she was particularly insufferable, and she'd gradually grown into a person who one could enjoy talking to. Despite being a swot, she grew to get along with other children, had burgeoning friendships, though she didn't expect them to survive to senior school, and wasn't too bothered by the thought. She had no trouble meeting new people now and was excited to hear whether she'd been accepted to the prestigious local school, St. David's Academy.

It was a surprise then, when an older, smartly dressed woman appeared at their doorstep, explaining kindly that she had to speak them about Hermione's schooling.

They'd all noticed that strange things had a tendency to happen around Hermione, though they'd taken to calling it 'Hermione's luck'. She found missing objects with regularity, regardless of how long Emma and Daniel had taken to search for themselves. Books tended to open at the page she wanted, and on those lazy weekends when all she wanted to do was lie in bed, her alarm often stopped working, letting her relax far longer than her parents intended. Nothing sinister, no cause for alarm, but Professor McGonagall's pronouncement that Hermione was a witch wasn't quite as surprising as it could have been.

Hermione hadn't been sure at first. She loved her parents; she hadn't ever envisaged moving away for school. Her parents had been reluctant also but knew that it would be an amazing opportunity for their daughter, one that she may live to regret if she didn't take it. After tears on both sides, they'd eventually decided that Hogwarts wasn't something to ignore, and they'd made their trip to Diagon Alley with the Professor on a warm August day. All three were blown away by the wonders they'd seen that day, and after Ben's question about whether Hogwarts had a phone was met with a polite explanation about the issues with magic and electricity, the pair bought their daughter an owl of her own so they could keep in contact with each other.

Hermione resolved to send weekly letters, something which pleased her parents greatly, and after a heartfelt goodbye at King's Cross, she made her way to the old-fashioned steam engine, eager to meet her new classmates. Naturally she'd read every book on her reading list over the end of summer, she was confident she could catch up to the rest who'd known of magic before her. What she really hoped though, was to make firm friendships and to settle in well, to make herself and her parents proud.

* * *

While she'd learned quite quickly that muggleborns weren't particularly well thought of in the wizarding world, she didn't really let it bother her. She, as she predicted, quickly excelled in her classes, and was able to rival and then surpass Draco, the Slytherin with whom certain boys in her house had a rivalry. While the Slytherin's weren't friendly to her, they reserved their ire for Harry Potter and his friend Ron, two boys in her house who seemed to go out of their way to antagonise their rivals at every turn. Not that the other boys were any kinder, but Hermione felt she was better off out of it. When she'd tried to speak to Ron she'd been mocked for her grades and her eagerness to answer questions, but she hadn't really let it bother her. She'd gotten along well with the girls in her year and was well liked, holding a popular study group one lunchtime a week for those students who worked better together. Knowing that Hermione was sure to pass their exams, even a couple of the Slytherins made their way to the table occasionally, happy for any advice they could get, knowing it paid to work with someone who knew what they were doing.

As Halloween rolled around, she'd been happy, eagerly writing letters to her parents as she'd promised in the months before. They kept her as informed as they could do, and their letters made her miss them, but also glad that she wasn't missing out and unaware of the world outside the castle walls. Harry had softened as the year progressed, recognising his support of Ron's laddish behaviour had been unfair, the boy desperate to make a friend who seemed to accept him without fixating on his fame. He'd apologised one evening in the common room, sheepish and eyes downcast, but Hermione had been sympathetic, she couldn't imagine what the boy was going through. She'd given him a hug, and they'd resolved to be friendly towards each other, Harry even turning up to her library session, though staunchly keeping his eyes on his own work whenever any Slytherins were there.

* * *

During the Halloween feast, as they'd been ushered out following Professor Quirrell's sudden outburst, she'd seen Ron whispering animatedly at Harry. The boy shook his head, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it and that he'd been reluctant to turn down whatever (probably ridiculous) idea Ron had had. After another bout of animated conversation, the two peeled off from their group, in another direction entirely to crowd of Gryffindors making their way to the tower.

She'd decided to follow them, against her better judgement. After their heartfelt conversation, she'd chosen to try look out for Harry wherever she could, and she was determined to not let him die in his first year if she could help it. As it turned out, they were lucky she'd had the foresight, as when she'd entered the bathroom, she'd seen Harry atop the troll, though his only impact was angering it.

Ron had been throwing broken pieces of porcelain at its back, though they were glancing off unnoticed. Harry then stuck his wand up the troll's nose, causing it to roar, and causing Hermione to feel revolted. Boys.

It finally noticed the other boy, now out of ineffective ammo, and started approaching him, arms swinging, Harry forgotten momentarily. Remembering a lesson in which Ron had mocked her, she levitated the club, letting it drop onto the troll's head, knocking it unconscious. Harry had slid off its back in time for a crowd of teachers to burst into the room, looking at the three with shock, Professor McGonagall throwing a particularly surprised look Hermione's way.

After the boy's sheepish explanations, they received a detention and lost points. Hermione had been praised, credited with her quick thinking under pressure and her care for the other students, though she was warned to look for a teacher in future rather than try to handle the situation herself. Her gained points matched those which were lost, which pleased her, she was pretty much carrying the house in the cup at this point.

It was clear that Ron had been unhappy with the outcome, but nevertheless had gained a grudging respect for Hermione's skill and her willingness to rescue them. They had tentatively become friends, with she and Harry becoming closer by the day.

As the year drew to a close, the three were inseparable. When Harry went to face Quirrell she went with him, the three of them facing off expertly against puzzles designed for far older wizards and witches than they. She'd been invaluable, her brains essential to the logic task which allowed Harry to meet his foe, and several traps beside. While her parents were horrified that Hermione had been involved in a plot that could have harmed her, they chose to allow her to continue, something she was thankful for. She was eager to learn more and was enjoying her experience of the wizarding world immensely.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione's time at Hogwarts over the next few years had passed in much the same fashion as her first. Wonder, learning, friendships and the inevitable dragging into some mad plot or other each year with Harry, she and Ron trailing behind him.

Her parents had been horrified that she'd been petrified, her insistence on staying in the magical school had been the biggest argument the three had ever had. But with the choice between Hermione continuing to utilise her talents or surrendering herself to muggle life, the three hadn't really had much choice in the end.

She hadn't shared that she was a little over a year older than she should be. The events of her third year had been tame in comparison, she didn't really want to bother them with something else to make them worry unnecessarily. She kept her resolve to inform them when anything major happened, still as close as ever, and they had been relieved to know that a so-called murderer hunting Harry had been nothing more than a loving godfather falsely accused.

In the summer before her fourth year, she and her parents had travelled to France, enjoying the sights, and giving Hermione a much-enjoyed opportunity to practice her French, nearly at perfect fluency.

She was well prepared then, when at the beginning of the year, it was revealed that they would have international guests, one group arriving from France. She had plenty of friends already, but she was keen to meet the new arrivals, learn about their school and hopefully even make some new friendships if she could.

* * *

'May I sit 'ere?' the blonde girl asked politely, smiling as Hermione nodded enthusiastically. It was the beginning of the year still, the new arrivals hadn't been at Hogwarts a week, and already she was beginning to get to know some of the students from both schools. It appeared that at least some of the delegates were more studious than their counterparts at Hogwarts. She'd merely taken her customary place in the library, keen to get ahead in her studies. She'd spotted Viktor Krum, the quidditch player Ron was enamoured with, peeking at her through the stacks. She'd engaged him in conversation before he could leave, and found he was an able student, even if his English was a little unpolished. Not that she could judge him of course, it wasn't as if she spoke Bulgarian!

The Beauxbatons girls had largely kept to themselves, giggling huddles making their way around the castle. This girl was seemingly an exception, spending her time over lunches sitting by herself, away from prying eyes. It was rare for a student to be in the library more than she herself was, and she'd been eager to meet her, but didn't want to impact on her studies.

'Thank you, 'ermione is it?' She asked politely, surprising the younger girl.

'Yes, how did you know? I don't believe we've spoken before.' Hermione responded, perplexed but pleased to find her task to befriend the girl had seemingly become markedly easier.

'Ah, well I see you in 'ere every day, and I 'ave over'eard. My name is Fleur.' She explained, smiling and taking a seat beside the brunette.

'I'm very pleased to meet you Fleur. I'd been hoping to talk to you, but you always seemed to be absorbed in your work!'

'Ah, oui, I want to make sure I do not fall be'ind. My English is above average for conversation, but there is a difference in speaking and writing assignments. And the boys 'ere, they follow me around, I prefer to avoid the attention if I can 'elp it.' Fleur said with a sheepish nod and a shrug of her shoulders.

'Of course. That must be incredibly uncomfortable for you, I'm sorry that they're so juvenile. I speak French, but I couldn't begin to write an essay in it! Why is it that you're alone Fleur, without others from Beauxbatons, if you don't mind the question?'

'It is unfortunately beyond my control. I am the top student, and part Veela, it is a combination which inspires jealousy in my classmates. There is little I can do. I am used to it.'

'Well, I'd be happy to get to know you Fleur! It seems we have much in common, and I'd love the opportunity to practice my French. I must admit, I was thrilled to learn your school was based in France.' Hermione responded enthusiastically, keen to make up for the cruelty of the unknown Beauxbatons students.

'It is a wonderful school, and I would be pleased to 'elp you practice, if you would 'elp me with my English in return?'

'I'd love to.'

* * *

And so, a fast friendship was born. Hermione steadfastly refused to spend time with Fleur with Ron present, ignoring his pleading, and instead they spent their lunches together, working away in the library or reading for pleasure, Hermione in French, Fleur in English, helping each other with any words they didn't understand.

They began to walk around the grounds together, after dinner, several nights a week, away from prying eyes. Talking about things they hadn't spoken to others before, finding solace in a person who understood them without judgement. Fleur lamenting her Veela nature, frustrated that while her thrall attracted most, she was only able to be fully content with a mere handful of individuals. A full Veela had a single mate, one who matched them above all others. As a quarter Veela, she was less limited, but she had met nobody at either school who her bond had recognised. She was eager to date nevertheless, but it was a difficult ask, a temporary fling that could never go anywhere beyond a deep, passionate friendship.

Hermione sympathised completely. Sharing her fears that she wasn't like the others, that there was something wrong, that despite his polite attention, she wasn't interested in Viktor in the same girlish way her dormmates seemed to be. That she'd been curious about a couple of the older girls in her house, before quickly pushing it aside, too much happening every year to consider taking the time to understand herself. Fleur explained that Veela had no concept of sexuality, that attraction could form with any gender, that she herself was open to dating another girl, though of course it might bring a level of attention she didn't need, especially as she'd been selected to represent her school. Her peers had been jealous, some devolving into messy tears at the Ravenclaw table, but she had been resolute, and Hermione could not have been prouder of her, if fearful for the dangerous tasks ahead.

They talked about the future, they talked about their pasts, sharing funny anecdotes and heart wrenching tales of Harry's struggles and Fleur's ostracism. Huddling together for warmth under Harry's borrowed cloak as they gazed over the lake, arm in arm. Afraid of being overheard, especially by Skeeter, who seemed to have an almost uncanny knack of finding out the most private things. Hermione had been romantically linked to Harry, then Krum, though neither rumour held any truth. She and Krum had become friends, Hermione enjoying getting to know someone so different than she, he relieved to be away from the crowds of adoring fans, Hermione not particularly interested in Quidditch or dating him.

When Hermione had lamented about the latest gossip piece, and the frosty response she'd received from Ron at breakfast, Fleur had quietly slipped a soft hand into hers, and just for a second, everything felt perfect again.

* * *

The first task was looming, just an hour or so away, and Hermione was growing increasingly afraid. Harry had been hopeless, she'd had to limit her precious time with Fleur to practice his spell work, something she had offered to do, but something that she found draining, eager to be back with her newfound companion and confidante. She was afraid for Fleur too, though far less so. It wasn't a lack of care, merely that she found Fleur's skills dazzling and she had no doubt that if anyone would succeed at the task, she would. As a seventh year, though in real terms only two years older than Hermione herself, Fleur had access to magics that Hermione didn't, though she and the older witch enjoyed learning from each other in vacant classrooms. She was highly competent, even beginning to use wandless and non-verbal magics, something Hermione hadn't even known was a possibility. Krum was on her mind too, but again, she felt confident that he'd be able to arise to the occasion.

She'd known it was dragons of course, Fleur having passed along the advice for Harry, insisting that if she and Krum were to be given the advantage of seeing their opponents, that Harry as the youngest should be given every opportunity to excel.

Rita Skeeter had made her way into the tent, bursting in with a cameraman in toe, suggesting that Hermione might be involved with both Harry and Krum this time. More baseless, tawdry nonsense designed to fill the heads of vapid readers and resulting in jealous barbs from classmates. She hoped the vicious woman never found out that the person she'd most like to be dating was the beautiful blonde beside her.

Hermione had found that while their friendship grew, so did her attraction to her friend. She knew it couldn't lead anywhere, but given the complexity of her life, really wasn't looking for anything serious anyway. It was too new, too fresh, and she had too much to worry about to navigate the challenges of her first relationship. Being interested in women was something they'd spoken about extensively, and their conversations had taken a flirtatious turn as of late, something which had thrilled her enormously. She was starting to believe it might be inevitable, that it might be something they could explore together, Fleur needing someone with no expectations of longevity, someone who liked her for her and not for her thrall.

* * *

'Fleur, you're hurt!' Hermione blurted, as she was given entry to the Beauxbatons carriage by a bemused looking Fleur, after pounding on the door. Thankfully the other students were away, still absorbed in the events, waiting for the final scores. Fleur had disappeared almost immediately, and Hermione knew she would seek privacy after the attention of the day.

''ermione, I _was_ 'urt, I am not 'urt now. It was just a small burn, your Madame Pomfrey 'as already 'ealed it. It will be tender per'aps for a few days, that is all.' She smiled gently, shepherding Hermione towards her room. Rank had its privileges, and as champion she had been given a private space in which to relax and recuperate, a bedroom with a private lounge and bathroom attached. Hermione had heard her speak about it, but had yet to see it, and was blown away by the opulence, though too on edge to really take it in. She quickly refocussed her attention on the young woman in front of her.

'Yes, but I saw you, you were hurt and there was nothing I could do…' Hermione began, almost panicked as she remembered, before being gently interrupted.

'The tasks are dangerous, I would not 'ave signed up if I was not prepared to take the risk.' Fleur replied gently. The prestige of the competition was important, but more important was her commitment to see it through to the end. Fleur was a fighter, and she would not surrender unnecessarily, regardless of the Goblet's rules.

'It's a different thing to see it… I was afraid it was worse. I know you were able to walk out of there so it can't have been severe, but you mean so much to me. I want you to be okay. I hate that there are more dangers ahead for you, that nothing I can do will help spare you from them.' Hermione said, emotion evident. Fleur quickly pulled her into a hug, enveloping the shorter girl, keen to reassure her.

'I promise, I will do my best to stay safe from now on, you need not worry. And you 'elp enormously, by being my duelling partner, the person that I can confide in, the person who makes me laugh after a long day of ignoring boys.' She laughed, releasing the brunette from her embrace, but keeping her mere inches away, hand running up and down her arm in a gesture of comfort.

'You're just… you're my best friend Fleur. God you're just so important to me…' Hermione trailed off, embarrassed in her vulnerability, a blush rising on her cheeks.

'And you me, 'ermione.' Fleur replied, gently tilting Hermione's chin upwards, and pressing soft lips gently to hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Their time together was spent much as it had been, learning from each other, walking the grounds, discussing their deepest secrets. Since the first task they'd been casually dating, though secretly from everybody else, neither willing to attract the extra attention they were sure to receive. Their walks, out of sight, often took place holding hands, or with arms around each other for warmth in the cold winter air. Gentle exchanges of kisses in the evenings in Fleur's cabin, often falling asleep together, talking late into the night. More passionate exchanges feeding off the adrenaline of their duels, though never straying beyond fierce clashes of lips, hands roaming over clothes as they enjoyed each other. Hermione confident in her sexuality now, knowing that she wanted this, grateful to have a friend like Fleur to explore her identity. Fleur thrilled to be able to have a relationship like any other girl her age, limited as she was by destiny, knowing that her friendship with Hermione would remain undamaged. It was a subject they'd spoken about extensively, and both were comfortable with the inevitable conclusion of their relationship at the end of the year's exchange. Resolving to always be as close friends as they had become, regardless of what the future held.

The Yule Ball had been a fabulous event, though one tinged with sadness, they had longed to attend together. Fleur had looked radiant, like a princess of times gone by, and Hermione had craved to be the one to lead her around the floor. Hermione had been a vision, a sight to behold, and Fleur had been tempted to leave Roger to his own devices and steal Viktor's partner for herself. Viktor and Hermione had attended as friends, and Hermione felt as though he might be aware of their secret, smirking slightly as Fleur had swooped in to 'borrow' Hermione later in the evening.

Ron, naturally, had tried to ruin it, blaming Hermione for 'consorting with the enemy', as if he hadn't asked out Fleur in his bumbling, mortifying way in the middle of the great hall. As if he hadn't idolised Krum and had his picture on his wall. Both had admonished him, Harry sprinting into the fray and dragging his red-faced friend away, apologising profusely in his stead. The night might have been abandoned had Fleur not suggested their customary walk. Though this time it ended with Hermione pushed against a tree, Fleur's teeth and lips at her neck, the French witch mumbling over and over about how beautiful her girlfriend was, Hermione unable to do anything but whimper.

* * *

As the second task had loomed, Professor McGonagall had had a somewhat awkward chat with Hermione about her status as the person the champions treasured most. Both Krum and Fleur had unknowingly chosen Hermione, Krum valuing her friendship over that of his classmates', Fleur as her secret girlfriend and confidante. She and Madame Maxime had arranged for the swift arrival of Gabrielle Delacour, proving teachers are never really entirely oblivious about what students get up to under their noses. Both Hermione and her mentor agreed that given the status of Rita Skeeter's campaign of hate against the Gryffindor bookworm, it would be better to avoid yet another potential avenue of scorn. Thus, Hermione became Viktor's prize, with Gabrielle her sister's.

Hermione continued to share her year with her parents in their weekly letters, parents who thankfully fully accepted her relationship. They were forward thinking people, her family always had been, and were able to validate Hermione's choices in ways she couldn't hope to receive from Harry and Ron. They were keen to meet Fleur, and Viktor too, her father in particular wanting to know all about Quidditch. Her mother, a keen hobbyist anthropologist, was fascinated by the unique nature of the Veela and eager to hear anything that Fleur might be willing to share about her culture.

* * *

The final task was upon them, and naturally Hermione was beside herself, with three of her closest friends pitted against each other. She wasn't as worried about Viktor and Fleur, both competent duellers and intelligent to match, but at seventeen they had three years on Harry's education, and it showed. She'd done her best to help him of course, practicing in empty rooms and working through his theory, all the while doing her best to spend as much time with Fleur as she could. Knowing that their time together was drawing to a close, she wanted to make sure she savoured their last few days together. Both were certain now that wherever life took them, they'd always be there for each other no matter what.

Fleur was the first to signal, and Hermione rushed from her position in the stands, propriety be damned. Thankfully the blonde witch had just been knocked out, though she bore scratches from the maze where it had tried to swallow her whole. Viktor was second, confused and disorientated, every sign that his memories had been tampered with, unable to explain how he got there or why his wand had been used to attack Fleur. Neither she nor Fleur had been worried though, Viktor had proven a loyal friend to them both, and was unlikely to have been behind any such assault in the name of personal glory. More sinister things were at play, and it was with great trepidation that she watched from the stands, anxious for Harry's return.

They didn't have too long to wait. After maybe an hour, Harry had appeared, clutching the cup and Cedric's body, distraught and crying out about Voldemort's return. Hermione knew then that nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

Fleur had decided to stay in the country, determined in her fierce, loyal way that she fight for Cedric's memory. That she not abandon Hermione's country to their fate. That she try and make a difference, as Hermione would make a difference working with Harry on his quest. They were afraid for each other, unsure of what the future held, knowing that regardless of where they went from here, neither would be safe. As they shared their final kiss, away from prying eyes, they promised each other that they'd never forget their year together and that they'd always stay in contact.

Hermione headed home, grateful to be away from the pain of their collective loss, eager to be with her parents once again. Parents horrified that a child had died at school, horrified that Fleur, Viktor and Harry might have perished too. Shocked that Harry had ever been in that danger to start with at merely 14 years old. They had been assured that the tournament was safe through their daughter's letters, but it was proof enough to them that nothing could be guaranteed, that mortal peril lay around every corner. They wanted her out, away from the darkness, regardless of how strongly she felt she needed to help Harry. With Hermione's fluency in French and her favourable impression on Madame Maxime, they were confident that their daughter would flourish in a place far away from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons. While Hermione had refused outright to move immediately, she nevertheless agreed to reconsider in a year if things kept getting worse, limited as she was in her ability to help while still underage, though knowing deep down she'd never abandon her friend.

With that solution in mind, her next year hopefully wouldn't drive her parents to an early grave, now constantly anxious and desperate to keep their child from harm. The three spent the summer together, Emma and Dan eager to make up for lost time. They wanted the tangibility of their daughter in their arms, as if pretending that they could keep her safe, knowing that her fate lay not with them, but with larger forces of dark and light in a world they couldn't enter or really comprehend.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Drs E & D Granger

47 Worthington Lane

Hampstead Garden Suburb

London

NW11 8AQ

November 17th, 1995

Prof. Albus Dumbledore

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Scotland

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

We hope this letter finds you well. Our daughter Hermione is a student of yours, in her fifth year at Hogwarts. We are non-magical, muggles, but we are familiar with the use of owls in our regular correspondence with her, so we hope this arrives successfully!

We never wanted to be the kind of parents to go behind our daughter’s back, and we hope you will keep this letter in the strictest confidence. We have been concerned for some time about the safety of the school, and while I’m sure that you and your staff take the utmost care, we’ve heard of incidents occurring over the past few years that left us horrified. Most recently, as you know, the Triwizard tournament resulted in a student death, but we are aware of incidents in which Hermione herself has been in danger from her very first year. We have had the privilege of meeting Fleur and Viktor over the summer break, and while no doubt they were able students, I feel a learning environment which routinely puts students in potentially mortal peril is not a suitable environment for our daughter.

Our daughter is as stubborn as her grandmother was but has nevertheless agreed to consider moving schools to Beauxbatons. She’s spoken highly of it, Fleur too, and we’re confident that she would be safer away from the coming trouble of British wizarding society. She is fluent in French, and we would foresee no difficulties in her settling in there. As a muggleborn, we’re told that she’s thought of as less than others, and we worry that she might be at risk if she continues at your school for very much longer. We were told in our last letter from Hermione that there were to be some issues with her post, that the ministry was screening our letters, which is in part why this letter has been addressed to you.

We were hoping that you might meet with Hermione and help her consider her options more fully. While we would prefer not to make this decision for her, we feel it is our duty as her parents to look out for her wellbeing, and ensure she is adequately protected from harm.

Kind regards,

Emma and Daniel Granger

* * *

Professor Dumbledore put down the letter with a weary sigh. He was fully aware of Miss Granger and was frankly surprised he wasn’t getting more letters directed his way given the limitations the ministry was setting on correspondence. Her parents seemed like reasonable people, wanting the best for their daughter. They were right in thinking times ahead were treacherous, and it would be better if all muggleborn students were able to be shielded from it. Hermione was a very able student, and in normal circumstances, while he’d be loath to lose her, he would of course respect the wishes of her parents and set up a conference with Madame Maxime. He was confident that she would be accepted at the school and would thrive there, making friends and topping her classes as effortlessly as she did at his school.

This issue wasn’t her capability, or her loss to Hogwarts, but rather her loss to Harry. Dumbledore had watched her mature and grow, lively, intelligent, always there ready to help him with his trials. Facing danger with cunning and determination. Even becoming a proficient dueller under the mentorship of Miss Delacour, an innocent romance facilitating the growth of both of their skills immensely. While Harry was progressing well, Albus felt confident that without the help of his friends, particularly Hermione, things may not have gone as well as they had in his early years at school.

With the re-emergence of Voldemort, it was more important than ever that Harry have his friends around him. The boy was being attacked from all angles, media and fellow students alike, and needed their moral support desperately. He also needed their talents to aid him on his quest. Albus could see the path Harry needed to take and was certain that Hermione’s abilities would be integral to his success and the downfall of Voldemort and his followers. He had no doubt Harry might prevail in the end without Miss Granger’s assistance, but at what cost? Who might die in the time it took for Harry to figure out a way to defeat his nemesis? What would remain of their society? Their allies? The innocents at their school? Hermione was an invaluable asset, and he felt certain that her place was best at Harry’s side, for Harry and the wizarding world at large. While Harry was the hero, Hermione was the brains of the trio, and the two together were needed to weather the oncoming storm.

He could simply confound the Grangers or hit them with a memory charm. Kinder options certainly. But Hermione was clever, and as close as she was to her parents, it seemed inevitable that she would detect even the most subtle meddling with their minds, magic always left traces if you knew where to look. Even if that were not the case, that he was overestimating her abilities, the Grangers were clearly intelligent and would notice if they happened to suddenly change their opinions or became forgetful, as was a common side effect of memory charms.

He could speak to Hermione directly, a reasonable girl, loyal to her friends. But an unnecessary risk if her devotion to her parents overwhelmed her devotion to the cause. She wasn’t reliant on Harry and Ron, as popular as she was, and would no doubt assimilate well with others if she moved to another school. She was a girl who had kept one foot inside the magical world and one foot in the muggle, while he was certain that she wouldn’t want to squander her magical gifts, the girl obviously didn’t feel entirely connected to their community, and he was worried that she wouldn’t be willing to fight for it as others might. Her parents had the right to withdraw her even with her dissent, convincing Hermione may not achieve the goal of keeping her at Hogwarts regardless.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d been required to manipulate a situation for the best interests of all involved. He could see a logical tapestry beyond the farthest view of his colleagues, beyond his comrades within the resistance, and it had always been his duty to act. He thought of Severus, desperate to help Lily, instead serving in the interests of The Order for the sake of her son. An invaluable spy, Dumbledore’s key to understanding the inner workings of his foes. He also wouldn’t delay as he had with his dear and only romantic love, Gellert, all those decades ago. The cost had been too high, his beloved sister and his brother both, one dead and one dead to him, and in the end the duty fell to him regardless. Facing off against the backdrop of a disapproving community, concerned he had tarried too long.

No, he knew what he had to do. What he alone could make the difficult decision to do. He had enough demons to plague his nightmares, this sombre duty would befall nobody else. Let the responsibility mar his soul alone. For the greater good. A phrase which had haunted his life from his teenage years and a phrase that would haunt him for the rest of his days.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

'Alright Steve, I think that's out now. Good job everyone!' The grizzled fire chief said to his deputy before signalling to his team that they could finally stop for the night. It had been a hell of a blaze, but thankfully the houses either side had been spared the worst of it. A little cosmetic damage but nothing too severe. They'd been evacuated of course, tired, middle class people fretting about in their posh pyjamas and dressing gowns. The smart ones had headed down the road to friends or to open restaurants, some had chosen to just hang around and gawk. He'd rolled his eyes when he'd arrived, but people were going to be people, and no amount of tragedy was going to keep the curtain twitchers away.

The occupants of the middle house hadn't been so lucky. Two bodies, male and female, had been found dead in the living room, having fallen from the now destroyed upstairs of the home. Thankfully it seemed like they'd been directly above the source of the explosion, whatever it had been. A quick death, they wouldn't have known what hit them. No scrambling around in the dark and the smoke looking for an exit. His team weren't too sure of what could have triggered it, it was too contained for a gas leak. He was sure that the forensics would have more information, but he wasn't an investigator, just the guy who supplied the water and the manpower when things went up. Maybe some kind of accelerant, but who'd try to burn down a nice house in the middle of the suburbs?

He'd stumbled past some cracked photos in the den, amazing what ended up surviving, and had been saddened to see a photo of two adults, probably the deceased, and what looked to be a daughter, who thankfully hadn't been home at the time. He didn't envy the poor bastard who had that difficult job to do, to let her know her parents were gone. Poor kid. It made him miss his own kids, tucked away in bed on the other side of the city. Wherever the daughter was, he hoped she was sleeping alright, things would never be the same again come morning.

* * *

The man in the hood turned away from the scene as the neighbours finally filtered away back to their houses. He'd arrived moments after the house had begun to burn, though if anyone had seen him, it would have been as if he'd appeared from nowhere. Thankfully everyone had been too busy staring at the flames to pay any attention to him. He wasn't absorbed by the flames, however. His attention had been drawn to the sign resting above them, invisible to muggle eyes. A dark mark, shining proudly in the air. A mark which had been co-opted here, though for what purpose, he had no idea. Certainly, to frame the death eaters, but to what end? He'd been sent by The Dark Lord to investigate, able as he was to blend in with the muggle community.

He'd been saddened to learn through the whisperings of the crowd the name of the muggles in question. The Grangers. There could be no coincidence here, the Gryffindor know it all had been the target of some sinister plot, and he felt pained on her behalf in spite of himself. While the girl was talented, she was no target yet, a mere child of 16. The final battle lines had not been drawn; she should have been safe for quite some time years. The Death Eaters had had no plans to attack here, Voldemort had been furious to learn of his symbol being used be another, especially since the ministry had been doing such an excellent job of denying his re-emergence. Something sinister was at play, and he was determined to find out what.

* * *

The news was broken gently to Hermione, by both Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, the latter embracing the young woman firmly as she wept in her arms. She'd blamed herself of course, without Hermione the Grangers would never have been a target. She'd rambled into her teacher's cloak, blaming herself over and over. If she'd only left for Beauxbatons when her parents had suggested it. If she'd never taken up the offer to develop her skills in the first place. If she'd done anything but align firmly with Harry Potter from the very beginning of her time at Hogwarts. No amount of soothing words could shift her worldview, and she'd left despondent for her room, compassionate leave granted until after the Christmas break.

Thankfully a guardian had been found, Jennifer Nolan, her aunt. But the woman knew nothing of magic and Hermione was loath to put her at the same risk as her parents had been. Understandable, but Minerva feared for her welfare, and told her that her door was always open. She had even offered to be a magical guardian of sorts, so that Hermione wouldn't miss out on things which needed parental consent, like trips to the village. She had always been a favourite of the elderly witch, and McGonagall had sworn an oath to herself to do whatever she could to support the young Gryffindor in the difficult times ahead.

Dumbledore had been oddly lost in thought, comforting though his words had been. Clearly there were complex matters at play, and Minerva only hoped that her mentor would be able to reconcile them so that no more innocents may befall the tragedy that had impacted Hermione.

* * *

She'd become solitary in her grief. Lost for endless hours in the library, spending evenings in the room of requirement honing her skills. Despite Umbridge's inadequacy and unwillingness to teach, their year had found an instructor in Harry, and the DA had been formed. Hermione engaged on the periphery, willing to correct others on her better days, but her own skills were now far beyond the level of the club. Thanks to her initial tutelage in wandless and non-verbal magics by Fleur, she was excelling at a phenomenal rate, exploring beyond even seventh year work. She had become a gifted dueller, and was sure to pass her Owl, though she no longer cared about things as petty as school grades. She was naturally still top of all her classes, but a different obsession was fuelling her actions now.

Harry had thought she was on a mission, had asked her about it gently, but had been politely rebuffed. While she knew in a logical way that Harry wasn't to blame for the loss of her parents, she struggled to disconnect from the idea emotionally, and so gradually a distance opened up between them. Ron hadn't known what to do with her, and after a few fumbled attempts, he thankfully gave up, leaving her to the efforts of his sister and friend. The Weasleys had all tried to connect with her in their own unique ways, but she wasn't Harry, she wasn't an orphan desperate for attention. She was a girl desperately missing her own loving parents, and she wasn't as keen to warm to Molly as she may have been before the slights she'd received during the tournament.

She wasn't on a mission per se, she wasn't going to launch herself on a one-woman suicide mission to take down Voldemort. But being friends with Harry came with its own danger, and soon enough the boy was going to get dragged into another hairbrained, ill thought-out scheme. When the time came, she wanted to be ready, ready to save her friends, but more importantly, take out as many of the bastards as she could. She wasn't sure who was behind the attack, but whoever had fired the mark on that fateful night would meet their death at the end of her wand. This she promised them, the two kind dentists who'd done nothing but show an interest in their daughter.


	7. Chapter 7

Grayscale Chapter 7

‘Could I have a word Severus?’ Professor McGonagall asked, having knocked on the oaken door and popped her head around the frame. The potions master had been idly marking essays late into the evening, many of which rated nary better than Troll. He might as well set them all aflame and save them all the trouble. They’d probably get an equal amount of learning from his diligent commentary either way. He doubted none but Miss Granger and a select few Slytherins bothered to even read it.

‘Of course, come in Minerva.’ He said, perking up at the sight of his colleague. While their inter-house rivalry was legendary, the two had been colleagues for over a decade, and they’d managed to form a firm relationship in that time. Though differing in personality, their respective skills had led to mutual respect, and later a warm friendship, formed in the flames of the unpredictability that was Albus Dumbledore. Though both revered the man, it could be difficult to maintain order and run a Hogwarts house successfully when the headmaster was so prone to introducing chaos into the school. The last few years in particular had been difficult to navigate, and the two had taken to sharing glasses of firewhiskey together several evenings a term.

He gestured towards his sitting area, Minerva gratefully settling into her customary armchair by the fire, happily accepting a glass from the potions master and taking a generous sip. It seemed as though she had a lot on her mind, and he had an idea of what that might be.

‘Miss Granger troubling you I take it?’ He asked gently, topping off her glass again. The Gryffindor head had been subdued of late, mirroring her despondent protégé. It appeared that the older woman hadn’t managed to make any headway with her, Hermione had become more and more withdrawn as time went on, even distancing from Potter and Weasley in the end. He couldn’t blame her, becoming more insular was a natural reaction to trauma, and he hadn’t troubled her when during his classes she preferred to lay her head on her desk once her tasks were complete. He almost wished she hadn’t been as perfect with her work as always, that he might have an excuse to offer some support. While he and Granger had never had much cause to interact beyond the cold walls of the dungeon, he felt a deep inner anguish at the thought of another innocent muggleborn being used as a pawn in machinations beyond them all. She wasn’t his Lily, but the same forces were at work here, tearing apart her life as though it meant nothing but a move in an invisible game of chess. Since that fateful night in the suburbs of London he’d felt tied to her plight, wanting to do his best to bring her peace, though his investigations so far had been for nought. Harry had the old man behind him, Granger would have her Minerva, and he would support them both as best he could from the artificial distance that separated the houses.

‘Aye, what else? I just fear for the girl. And I know you’ve seen her too, thank you for not giving her a hard time.’ The elderly witch smiled warmly at the younger man. She’d had reports from several faculty about Hermione resting in their classes, though as she was completing her work, she assured them that it was best to leave her to it. The girl was processing, and it was natural that she would struggle during her lessons. Surprisingly to many, though less so to her, Severus hadn’t been one of them, instead treating the girl with more gentleness than she’d known the man possessed.

‘Not at all.’ He nodded quickly, drinking from his own glass.

‘I just don’t understand it. Who would do such a thing? She’s a talented girl and becoming more fearsome by the day by all accounts. But she’s just a girl, a student. A fifth year! While it’s inevitable that she’ll have a part to play, why now? Why harm her now? Surely this only makes her that much more driven to defeat him?’ Minerva voiced aloud, lost in thought. Perhaps someone with the knowledge of the inner workings of Hogwarts would have seen the girl’s potential and sought to quash it.

‘I wish I knew. As you know, The Dark Lord was furious with the use of his mark. He has interrogated us all and found no evidence of guilt. I think perhaps it’s time to turn the investigation elsewhere.’ He replied gently. While neither of them wanted to look at their comrades as perpetrators, it was clear to him that the dark hadn’t been the ones behind it. They hadn’t even been aware of Granger beyond the faint knowledge that she was one of Potter’s friends. He sought for that to remain so, but he feared that in an inevitable confrontation, her sheer ability would further mark her as a target.

‘You couldn’t mean?’ She replied, shocked. As if considering a traitor within their midst for the first time. Minerva, as experienced as she was, lived in a world where most people she fought with were trustworthy and decent. He, as a long-time spy was not so fortunate, and it was only natural that he contemplate such dark thoughts more readily.

‘I don’t know what I mean Minerva. All I can be certain of is that the culprit or culprits do not lie among the Dark Lord’s followers, there is a different motive at play.’ He said, resolute. The mark a red herring, to direct the girl’s righteous anger elsewhere, too lost in her learned hatred to pay much scrutiny to who or why.

‘Perhaps the girl is right then, that this was personal to her rather than an attempt to impact Harry. Did you know she was considering leaving before all this?’ She replied, sighing deeply into her drink. She remembered the look of horror that had moved across the young woman’s face when she’d realised, that painful morning in the headmaster’s office. If she’d chosen to leave the school she called her home when the idea had first occurred, her parents may not have died at all.

‘And so, the guilt becomes ever more difficult to bear.’ He summarised darkly.

‘Aye. They may never have been targeted if she was safely away at Beauxbatons.’

‘The romance with Delacour. Of course.’ He replied, his mind racing. So, she had planned to leave. Or at least her parents had wanted her to. Potter was a bright enough boy but lost without the real brains of the trio. Weasley was the dull headed muscle, if anything, without the girl, he might slow Potter down.

‘And they thought they were subtle.’ The older woman chuckled to herself, rolling her eyes.

‘For teenagers they did well, I can credit them for that.’ He laughed, feeling forced, thoughts still fixated on the new information he had received. Brain beginning to connect, though unwilling to voice his thoughts for the moment.

‘True enough. The scenes I encountered at the ball… lord above… almost enough to drown my sorrows like Trelawney!’ She smirked, fully aware of the fraudulent shrew’s habit of disappearing with the sherry.

‘Or obliviate yourself as our esteemed Professor Lockhart.’ He replied, beginning to find himself again.

‘You know Severus, I think that was the kindest thing you’ve ever said about him. Has he gained a new fan?’ She hit back, chuckling as Severus blanched and faked a gagging motion.

‘Oh, shut up and have your drink Minerva.’ He laughed, for real this time.


End file.
